\nThe first poem ever written in the hardscrabble town of Dirt Rut was by Madison (age six), and it was about their friend Sally who had died in a stampede. Madison had seen death before\u2014old age and a drowning\u2014but unlike those deaths, nobody talked about Sally\u2019s. So, six years old and full of feelings that no one saw fit to acknowledge, Madison wrote a poem:\n<\/p>\n
\n
<\/p>\n Sally was barely a pup <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u2026which was lousy all around, especially for Sally\u2019s family when Madison recited it at her funeral. When they were picked up by their ma halfway through the third line and hollering the rest as they were carried out of the church, that was when Madison had their first inkling that words might be worth a damn.\n<\/p>\n \nSince the poem about Sally had made people feel things (and since nobody seemed to appreciate those feelings), Madison (still age six) decided that crops and cows could be made to feel things too, but maybe it was better if they felt good things, like growing tall and getting fat. By age twelve, Madison had made considerable strides as a poet. Not particularly in form, but in putting an influence on goods, such as their ode to their ma\u2019s garden:\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nBearing in mind, thank you, that Madison was the only poet born in Dirt Rut (population: unknown; counting past fifty wasn\u2019t a common skill in Dirt Rut, which should tell you something about Dirt Rut) and the only entertainment available was a harmonica player who couldn\u2019t tell his sharps from his flats. Not that anyone else could, either. Lord knows how long it took a harmonicist with no talent to stumble across a backwards little town where no one had any musical skill and couldn\u2019t definitively tell you to your face that you hadn\u2019t any, neither.\n<\/p>\n \nMadison was twelve when the harmonicist came to live in the town. It didn\u2019t much suggest an outside world; it was practically an underline that life ended in the Rut. Still, it was a novelty that someone from outside came in, though it didn\u2019t occur to Madison then that someone inside could also go out. What did it matter, anyway? It was enough that their choppy little poems made the crops grow taller, or helped calm a skittish horse, or sweetened the morning porridge.\n<\/p>\n \nThey were sixteen when the singer came to Dirt Rut. A real singer, with words of her own that were worth a damn, who made people feel things they daren\u2019t acknowledge.\n<\/p>\n \nIndelible Elle, dead woman walking.\n<\/p>\n \n \n\u201cMadison!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMadison jumped as their friend, Jolly, slapped either side of the bench they sat on. The charcoal juddered across the page and Madison made a face as they rubbed at the marks.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI was trying to find a rhyme for \u2018manure\u2019,\u201d Madison complained.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSorry,\u201d Jolly said sheepishly. \u201cI didn\u2019t see you was working. But I thought this would interest you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWuh\u2014\u201d started Madison, but Jolly put a hand over their mouth and cocked his head with an exaggerated listening gesture. They stayed in that tableau until Madison blew a sloppy raspberry into his palm.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHey!\u201d Jolly took his hand away and wiped it on Madison\u2019s pants. \u201cMouth shut, ears open!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBefore Madison could reply, a soprano susurrus wafted about them. Jolly\u2019s face lit up.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIs that?\u201d said Madison.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA singer!\u201d said Jolly.\n<\/p>\n \nMadison rolled their charcoal and paper into a clumsy log. \u201cWhat\u2019s all this sneaking around for, then? Let\u2019s go find her!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo idea where she is! I went to look, but no one\u2019s caught sight of her yet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA dip in the volume made them freeze. \u201cDon\u2019t leave,\u201d Madison whispered.\n<\/p>\n \n <\/p>\n \u201cFind me in the gloaming <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u2026came the first sweet lines. The two sat transfixed as the words wove a scene. The song ended and: \u201cLuralee\u2019s field,\u201d they said simultaneously.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhy did you think?\u201d \u201cHow did you guess?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe two stared at each other as their words overlapped. \u201cIt was obvious,\u201d said Madison.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, but it wasn\u2019t,\u201d said Jolly. \u201cGolly, is that what it is to be a poet? Making people know what you mean without spelling it out?\u201d His voice dropped with envy and admiration. \u201cNo wonder your ma lets you write all the time instead of mucking with the cows.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd helping out with the village,\u201d Madison couldn\u2019t help adding, and hurriedly continued, when they saw Jolly\u2019s dejected face, \u201cNot that herding cows isn\u2019t helpful.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSure, but anyone can smack a cow\u2019s behind and make her moo,\u201d said Jolly. \u201cBet if I ran away, no one would even notice.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI would notice,\u201d said Madison. \u201cCome on, there\u2019s still hours left before the gloaming. I\u2019ll help you with your chores and you can help me with my limericks.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJolly brightened. \u201cPooer,\u201d he said as the two started towards Jolly\u2019s family\u2019s fields.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201c\u2026Pooer?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah. Poo-er. Someone who poos. As a rhyme for manure,\u201d Jolly explained.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYup,\u201d said Madison, with no further elaboration.\n<\/p>\n \n \nLuralee was getting on fifty, frequently drunk and thin as an old dish rag. She was mean and lonely and Madison assumed when they turned sixteen that they would be told the secret behind Luralee\u2019s meanness and sadness, but she went on being herself with no explanation. Madison sometimes tried to slip a cheerful limerick about milking under her door, but Luralee always returned it to their ma. So it was odd that the singer had chosen Luralee\u2019s plot, and out of the question that Luralee had agreed to her land being used. Both Madison and Jolly were lured as much by the promise of an honest-to-goodness performance as the unspoken threat of fisticuffs.\n<\/p>\n \nNot wanting to be the first ones Luralee saw traipsing about her land, the two lingered by the long irrigation channel waiting for anyone else with a dollop of curiosity to risk her wrath. Impatience turned to incredulousness, for it seemed like the whole population of Dirt Rut had the same idea. Creeping and scuttling, timidly at first and then with greater urgency as more people appeared behind them, all of Dirt Rut came to Luralee\u2019s door.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ll be darned for socks,\u201d Jolly whispered.\n<\/p>\n \nMadison tugged at his shirt. \u201cCome on, let\u2019s get to the cows.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLuralee hired no help for her land and let the grasses and weeds do as they pleased, and as such the vegetation was swirled and flattened and stood up and lay down and went in just about every direction possible. Sometimes the only way to locate her cows was by their mooing.\n<\/p>\n \nThis time, the cows were noticed because they were directly under the singer\u2019s feet.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf I die from shock,\u201d said Madison, \u201ctell my parents to just bury me here and use this for my marker.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLuralee\u2019s six Holsteins stood in a ring, snouts out, rumps touching, chewing disinterestedly while a lady in a pink pinafore stepped from one broad back to another, surveying the coming crowd. She saw the two youths and smiled broad as an open barn door and just as gappy.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLuralee\u2019s gonna split you like logs,\u201d said Jolly.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLuralee couldn\u2019t find her arse in a biscuit right now,\u201d said the singer. The gaps in her teeth made the sibilants whistle, as though she couldn\u2019t help but be musical even when cussing.\n<\/p>\n \nJolly looked doubtful. \u201cI dunno, miss. Luralee\u2019s had a lot of practice being drunk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe waved away his concern. \u201cI\u2019ll milk that cow when it\u2019s full. For now,\u201d and she looked past the youths and they jumped to see a wall of villagers not five feet behind them, \u201cI believe y\u2019all are here for a song?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe introduced herself as Indelible Elle.\n<\/p>\n \nAbout five minutes later, crawling through the tall grass to avoid the attention of the rioters, Madison asked, \u201cDoes that always happen?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cUsually takes a bit longer than that,\u201d said Elle. \u201cI\u2019m generally onstage for a week before anyone throws a punch. I mean, I didn\u2019t think a place this small would support me more\u2019n a day, but I wasn\u2019t expecting this to happen so fast. People happy here?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA dried cow patty flew overhead, but it didn\u2019t seemed aimed with any malice, so they ignored it. \u201cLuralee usually isn\u2019t,\u201d said Madison and flicked a spider out of their path, \u201cbut I guess everyone else is fine. Leastwise nobody confides in me particular, except when they want something.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat\u2019s not so unusual,\u201d said Elle. \u201cYou look pretty young to be shouldering everyone\u2019s burdens, anyway.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m Dirt Rut\u2019s poet,\u201d they said, and felt ridiculous.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, well then,\u201d said Elle. \u201cThat explains why you\u2019re here with me instead of gone loco with the rest of \u2018em.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMadison winced as a sharp rock bruised their knee. \u201cYou lost me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPoet in this kind of place, you\u2019re putting a \u2018fluence on things, right? More milk from the cows, bigger eggs from the chicken, taller crops from the fields. Right? You can picture it happening. It\u2019s not real at the time, but you help make it real, and thinking about it doesn\u2019t scare you. Tell me, what was I singing about?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMadison thought back. \u201cYou were just describing a bunch of trees. How water looks when there\u2019s a lot of it. What sunlight does after it goes away at night. It was real pretty,\u201d they added, because when they said it out loud it sounded unimpressive and not at all a reason for everyone to start fighting.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThanks. You ever seen trees like I said? Or saw that much water, or thought about the sun?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMadison shrugged as best they could while on all fours. \u201cSome of it, maybe, in my head.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey didn\u2019t,\u201d said Elle, \u201cor haven\u2019t, or can\u2019t, etcetera. And when they\u2019re given it, they don\u2019t know what to do with it. So they do\u2026whatever. Yell. Laugh. Start punching.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJolly was back there, and their ma, and their pa too, probably, and Jolly\u2019s family and the Herdleys next door with their littl\u2019uns and oldsters Brainard and Gillam from the general store and all the rest, whatevering each other. Suddenly angry, Madison grabbed her sleeve. \u201cWhy do you do it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe didn\u2019t insult them by twittering ignorance or answering the wrong question. \u201cI seen lots of places and more people, and I\u2019m tired of \u2018em saying they\u2019re happy when the truth is they just don\u2019t know better. I\u2019m old, kiddie-o, old and I got this one world to live in.\u201d She patted the hand that was still clutching her sleeve. \u201cMaybe I could make it to the moon\u2014I\u2019d like to. I can think of it, but I don\u2019t know how to do it. So I tell people the rest of it, what I\u2019ve seen and can imagine, and it fires them up or at least gets \u2018em thinking. You want to stay here forever?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe question caught them off guard. \u201cThey need me,\u201d said Madison.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHorse apples.\u201d Indelible Elle creaked to her knees and scanned the horizon. There was the distant-thunder murmur of the townsfolk, but no one seemed to be following them. \u201cPlace like this\u2019ll kill a poet, if you let it.\u201d She stood with difficulty, the grasses tangling about her feet. Madison watched her pick her way through the field, her arms outstretched in an exaggeration of stealthiness, and felt resentment thud in their bosom.\n<\/p>\n \nThey shouted,\n<\/p>\n \n <\/p>\n \u201cThere once was a woman named Elle <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nSeveral yards away, Elle suddenly disappeared into the weeds with a loud squelch and a louder yelp. When she got back up, she was laughing. Dissatisfied, Madison glowered after her, then followed the sound of other dissatisfied voices, hoping to find Jolly still in one piece.\n<\/p>\n \nJolly was lucky; he wouldn\u2019t need stitches or bone setting. He\u2019d been overcome with weeping before getting decked by kindly old Brainard, and when he fell he\u2019d had the presence of mind to crawl over to the ring of bemused cows rather than let himself be trampled on by his kinsfolk. He\u2019d climbed onto Nasty, the matriarch; she\u2019d accepted his weight with weary resignation. He was still up there, snuffling, when Madison found him. By that time, the feelings of the residents of Dirt Rut had gone from generalized, misunderstood anger to a specific, misunderstood anger.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow dare she\u2014\u201d \u201cWho does she think she\u2014\u201d \u201cCome into our town and\u2014\u201d among other curses. Madison joined Jolly on Nasty\u2019s broad back and held him until he stopped shaking and they started shaking instead, sickened by the things people were saying. \u201cGiving herself airs\u2014\u201d \u201cPutting ideas into\u2014\u201d \u201cThe nerve of\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe was just singing about trees, thought Madison.\n<\/p>\n \nThey thought their absence had gone unnoticed, but after a few minutes their ma came by and pulled on their foot with agitation and relief. \u201cMadison! Oh lord, I was so worried that woman had taken you!\u201d their ma cried.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, ma,\u201d they said.\n<\/p>\n \nShe kept shaking them by the foot. \u201cMadison, you can\u2019t ever become like that woman. Lord! The things she said! You wouldn\u2019t ever talk that way to us, would you? Those awful words she used!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, ma.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTheir ma blew her nose on her apron. Her knuckles were bloody. \u201cCome home,\u201d she said, and Madison obediently slid off of Nasty and followed.\n<\/p>\n \nAll the way back, she spat vitriol and bile. Good people don\u2019t do that. Causing trouble, nothing but trouble. Riling up the good folk. And for what? For what!\n<\/p>\n \nMadison thought, But she was just singing about trees.\n<\/p>\n \n \nThe yodelling came earlier than the cock-crows.\n<\/p>\n \nAll over town, people felt the music tugging at them, directing them wordlessly to Luralee\u2019s fields. They could have ignored it\u2014it was just a suggestion\u2014but they knew who was calling them, and they wanted to find her.\n<\/p>\n \nMadison and Jolly met up and hurried ahead of the rush.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI hope they don\u2019t hurt her,\u201d said Madison.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey don\u2019t know,\u201d said Jolly, and paused. \u201cThey don\u2019t know how bad hurt can feel,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n \nElle stood again on Luralee\u2019s cows. \u201cWhat\u2019d you do to Luralee this time?\u201d asked Jolly.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNothing,\u201d said Elle. \u201cShe\u2019ll be here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d said Madison, without thinking.\n<\/p>\n \nElle\u2019s gappy smile was like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and again Madison said, \u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d because Jolly started crying again beside them, quietly.\n<\/p>\n \nBy then everyone was surrounding her with Luralee at the forefront, holding a scythe.\n<\/p>\n \nIndelible Elle introduced herself, and began to sing.\n<\/p>\n \n If I die in the desert, then please remove my hands <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThis time, the anger was focused; even so, there was laughter.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGet this junk off my property,\u201d said Luralee, when it was done. People began gathering up the pieces and took them to the edge of town, where a sign read DIRT RUT. They were left there for the crows and other scavengers.\n<\/p>\n \nChores needed doing, so eventually everyone got around to them, except for Jolly, who claimed a stomach ache, and Madison, who brought a backpack.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou don\u2019t even know where she\u2019s from,\u201d said Jolly as Madison sorted through the remains at the bottom of the sign post.\n<\/p>\n \nThey found her lights still attached to their stalks and tied them like a charm to their belt. \u201cCome with me,\u201d said Madison, instead of anything else.\n<\/p>\n \nJolly shook his head without disagreement and passed Madison her heart. They thought of the words they could use, the rhyme that would make up his mind and make him happy for it, and knew they could never say it. Not if they really loved him.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMadison!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJolly froze, but Madison sifted through the redness until they found a tongue. \u201cYes, ma,\u201d they said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI told you they was here,\u201d said Luralee, standing with her arms folded like sheathed daggers. \u201cThem and that jittery one, not that his parents would mind. Not like good parents.\u201d She nodded, satisfied.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m leaving,\u201d said Madison. \u201cI wasn\u2019t going to tell you, but I guess I might as well now. I\u2019m going to learn about being a poet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTheir ma clutched at their shirt. \u201cMadison, honey, you are a poet. A good one, who does good work for good people. How could anything be better than that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMadison shrugged her off and continued filling their backpack with parts of Elle. Jolly found her nose and clutched it as though afraid it would be confiscated.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe need you here,\u201d Madison\u2019s ma said. \u201cThat woman, she as good as said this place was a desert. You heard her! What will happen to us without you to fix it? Madison, I forbid you to go. You listen to me. I\u2019m your mother and you aren\u2019t going anywhere.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSuddenly Madison whirled on her, chest puffed out like the neck of an angry snake. She squeaked and fell down, and even Luralee took a step back. With a voice no deeper, no louder, yet piercing as the sun through a magnifying glass, Madison said,\n<\/p>\n \n <\/p>\n \u201cA native of Dirt Rut am I, <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nTheir mother hid her face in her hands, but Luralee swung one arm back, her hand as open as her face never was\u2026\n<\/p>\n \n\u2026and Jolly stepped in the way, and Luralee\u2019s slap spun him twice around and with that momentum he flung his own arm up and hurled Indelible Elle\u2019s nose into the clouds. Luralee watched it, as any predator watches movement, and it didn\u2019t come down, and she didn\u2019t stop watching. She was still watching when Madison and Jolly went away.\n<\/p>\n \nWhen they could no longer see the town, Madison stopped and took off their backpack. Its contents hummed and vibrated as they searched through the parts of Elle until they found her tongue, questing like an inchworm, raising its tip to test the breeze. Madison drew their arm back and squinted into the light.\n<\/p>\n \n \u201cLike planting seeds,\u201d said Jolly.\n<\/p>\n \nMadison paused, arm cocked. \u201cYup,\u201d they said finally, and, laughing, threw Elle\u2019s tongue high in the air, sending it spinning, farther and farther than they ever thought they could go.\n<\/p>\n Laura DeHaan is very quiet and definitely not behind you.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The first poem ever written in the hardscrabble town of Dirt Rut was by Madison (age six), and it was about their friend Sally who had died in a stampede. Madison had seen death before\u2014old age and a drowning\u2014but unlike those deaths, nobody talked about Sally\u2019s. So, six years old and full of feelings that …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":206,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20090],"tags":[20091],"class_list":["post-138256","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-40-summer-2021","tag-the-colored-lens-40-summer-2021","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138256","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/206"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=138256"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138256\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":138257,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138256\/revisions\/138257"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=138256"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=138256"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=138256"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nBut already her time was up.
\nShe got kicked by a cow,
\nFell over, said, \u201cOw,\u201d
\nNow Sally won\u2019t ever get up.<\/p>\n
\n
\n
\n
\nThe water that waters these plants
\nGives \u2018em one heck of a chance.
\nThey\u2019ll grow tall and true
\nWhen watered by you.
\nThe parsnips will practically prance.<\/p>\n
\n
\n
\n
\nby the lowing of the beasts\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\n
\n
\n
\nWhose face was as bad as her smell.
\nShe came to Dirt Rut
\nAnd fell on her butt
\nAnd she and her lousy opinions can go to hell!\u201d<\/p>\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n\u201cI\u2019ve walked the dunes of deserts and I\u2019ve smelled the breath of Spring.
\nThe sun is glist\u2019ning off the sand but I don\u2019t see a thing.
\nI know there\u2019s rocks beneath my feet, but all I feel is loam.
\nI\u2019ve travelled distant, foreign lands but all I want is home.<\/p>\n
\n
\nAnd throw them in a fir tree so I never feel the sands,
\nAnd please remove my lowlands heart and feed it to the flames
\nSo I don\u2019t die with desert grit a-drifting in my veins,
\nAnd take from me my nose and tongue and fling them to the sky
\nTo rid my nostrils of the scent of sand-dust when I die,
\nAnd bury you my aching feet in cool and fertile loam
\nAnd carry you my eyeballs so I might once more see home.
\nI\u2019m lost within this desert, buried under sand,
\nThe sky looms large as waterfalls, yet I can barely stand.
\nSo please respect my wishes, aid my final roam,
\nA static, severed body given to my lonely home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n
\n
\nEarthbound with my face to the sky,
\nBut if I throw myself down
\nHard enough at the ground
\nI might bounce, and may yet someday fly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n